


A-mage-ing Grace

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: Soft Stucky, Warm Stucky, Little Ball of Sass [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (a bit), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mage Steve Rogers, Mutual Pining, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson - minor appearance, Sharing a Bed, Skinny Steve, Slow Burn, Soft Stucky Week, Swordsman Bucky, basically they're the littlest hobo, bucky has both arms, it's not a road trip but they wander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: Steve was a mage, not a fighter: he'd entered the tournament to face other mages. But when he had to face the Winter Soldier, he never thought he'd wind up being responsible for him, even if it was only for the time it took to get him off the Baron's lands. He hadn't dreamed it would lead to the Winter Soldier following him through half the kingdom. Steve wasn't sure why it was happening, he wasn't sure what the man wanted, but for the moment he was willing to wait and see. He just hoped he wasn't making a terrible mistake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Soft Stucky Week](http://iamnotsebastianstan.tumblr.com/post/152264652360/hello-friends-so-i-made-this-post-saying-that). There's a little angst scattered amongst the softness (sorry!) but there's happy endings for all!
> 
> Title is a punnish bastardisation of Amazing Grace. Which, okay, yeah, I bet you all knew that already :D. This grew from an idea of Kiriei's that I veered wildly off-track, but she was still kind enough to look it over and reassure me it was okay.

Steve stared in disbelief at the herald. "What do you mean I have to fight _him_?"

The noise of the crowd rippled over the once-green fields, now torn-up and muddy from the day's events. The sun beat down, reflecting off colourful pennants snapping in the breeze, and Steve felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine. He wasn't wearing robes, preferred trousers and a tunic, but it was still hot on the field with no shade available. He'd loosened the laces at his neck, but it wasn't helping much.

The herald was clad in gold and purple, the Baron's colours—appropriate since the Baron was hosting this tournament—and he shifted impatiently, bouncing a beam of sunlight off his gold-capped boot into Steve's eyes. "I'm not sure what part was unclear," the herald replied, looking down his nose at Steve. Which wouldn’t have been difficult, even without the attitude; Steve barely reached his nose. "You are the winner of the mage's tourney. _He_ is the winner of the fighter's tourney. You must fight each other to determine the winner of the tournament entire. If you don't, no purse of gold will be awarded."

The herald's eyes narrowed. "And I can guarantee that if you rob the crowd of their final entertainment, more importantly if you rob my _Baron_ ," the herald pointed his staff of office at the large man lounging on a stand high above the proceedings, waving genially to the excited crowd, "of his final entertainment, he will be Greatly Displeased." Idly, Steve wondered if heralds received some sort of special training that let them pronounce capital letters. "You'll be blacklisted as far and as fast as word can be carried."

Steve took a good long look at the man standing on the other side of the field, the man he was expected to fight. He hadn't signed up for this—or apparently he _had_ signed up for this, he just hadn't been aware of it at the time. The man was dressed in leather, not heavy armour, and Steve—drawing on his complete lack of knowledge of all things martial—thought it was designed more for ease of movement than blocking heavy weapons. That probably meant he was fast. "Who is he?" he asked. "Are you allowed to tell me anything about who I'm going to be fighting?"

The herald stared at him, professional heraldness slipping a little. "You mean you don't... Have you been living under a rock?"

Steve favoured him with a flat smile. "Close. A village in a place you'd never have heard of."

"I see." With a tiny shake of his head, the herald said, "That's the Winter Soldier."

"The Winter Soldier? Doesn't he have a name?"

"Not one anyone knows. He's a mercenary of sorts, this season he's been fighting under the flag of Viscount Rumlow. He's called the Winter Soldier because he's cold, deadly, merciless. Never hesitates. Rumour has it he's killed more men than some armies. I don't know _what_ Viscount Rumlow was thinking, bringing someone like that to a tourney, but he outranks the Baron." The herald caught himself and cleared his throat. "But I'm sure you'll be fine, these fights aren't to the death." He fixed Steve with a sharp look. "You _are_ going to fight him?"

Steve watched the Winter Soldier, who was standing calmly, hands resting on his swords. The noise of the crowd was rising as they grew restless. They'd cheered Steve when he'd won the last match, sinking his opponent-mage into the ground up to the neck and trapping him there, but he had a feeling their mood could be best summed up as: _What have you done for us lately?_ He looked down at his hand, spread his fingers and summoned magefire to wind itself up his arm. There were leylines running under the ground all around them, so he hadn't needed to touch his own personal reserves of power. And he really needed that gold. "I'll fight."

The herald smiled. "Good choice," he said and strode off towards the Baron.

Steve kept watching the Winter Soldier, who gave him with a wide, dangerous smile, and had the feeling he might have made a terrible mistake.  

It didn't take long for the herald to return, striding into the middle of the field, proclaiming to the crowd, something about the afternoon's entertainment, and praising the Baron, but Steve wasn't paying attention. There was nothing casual about the way his opponent was standing now. He was poised like a predator, eyes fixed on Steve. It was unnerving and Steve was certain that was the point. Two could play at the game, though, and he pulled magic from the closest leyline and let it surround him, glowing like pale fire.

He could see the Winter Soldier's teeth gleam white as he smiled again. Or bared his teeth like an angry wolf. Steve honestly couldn't tell and then there was no time because the herald had dropped the flag and gotten the hell out of the way and Steve was staring at a charging mass of whirling steel. He reacted automatically, trying what he'd used on his last opponent, opening a sinkhole under the man's feet, but he leapt over it, barely breaking stride, landed easily and kept coming. He was moving more cautiously now, sizing Steve up.

Steve couldn't set him on fire—well, he could, but that wasn't, he wouldn't do that, not even if it _had_ been in the letter or spirit of the tournament. As the Winter Soldier closed the distance between them Steve raised a shield: invisible, but it would block all physical attacks for as long as Steve could pour power into it. Tempting as it was to let the other man exhaust himself trying to get through it, to let him batter his swords on it until he collapsed—if Steve could hold it that long—Steve knew that wouldn't be entertaining. If the Baron was displeased no one would win. So he went on the offensive. He sent a jet of fire spiralling out in front of him, but the Winter Soldier evaded, slipped around Steve so fast Steve couldn't keep track of him even as he whirled.

The man moved like a cat, twisting out of the way as Steve threw fire, threw ice, opened holes in the ground. He responded with hurled knives, slid in close to cut at Steve's legs, sending Steve stumbling back because his shield didn't extend that low. He barely got them covered in time.

The two danced across the field, Steve constantly on the defensive, the Winter Soldier aggressively pushing Steve the longer the fight went on. Steve summoned fire and sent it dancing down his swords, heating them instantly, but instead of dropping them the other man hurled them at Steve, drew daggers and kept coming.

This wasn't his sort of fight, he had no experience with this, and he was getting tired. It was getting hard to concentrate. Hard to hold the shield. The Winter Soldier knew what he was doing, he was going to keep pushing and, sooner or later, Steve knew he was going to get through. Steve was going to slip. His shield was going to drop and, looking into those cold eyes, Steve didn't think the other man was going to settle for a quick tap on the head to claim his victory.

Steve could pull power and throw fire, just like any mage, but his true affinity was for shields. Affinity enough to try something only desperation made him think might be possible, but it meant dropping his shield. He sent a blast of fire at the Winter Soldier, pushing him back, and started to work, twisting the shield he'd been holding around himself into a solid, circular mass. The Winter Soldier seemed to sense he was vulnerable and lunged forward, swinging the sword he'd retrieved at Steve's arms as Steve flung the shield like a discus.

He couldn’t see it, couldn't evade it, and it crashed into his head.

The Winter Soldier dropped like a stone, unconscious, and the crowd roared. Steve stared down at him, then dropped to his knees, pressing two fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse. He sat back with a small sigh of relief when he found one. A shield wasn't meant to be used as a weapon, and he'd had no idea it was going to knock the man out.

The crowd's noise was deafening and the herald was pulling Steve up and proclaiming him the winner, pulling him towards the Baron. Steve bowed low, managed to get out some words he thought were appropriate. He accepted the purse of gold and a gaudy, ribbon bedecked trophy which he thought was some sort of rabbit, and bowed low again, and once more, and thanked the Baron, who beamed at him. His heart wasn't in it, because from the corner of his eye he could see a man who must be Viscount Rumlow and his attendants approaching the still unconscious Winter Soldier.

The Viscount gestured and one of his men reached down, ripped the Rumlow colours off the unconscious man's chest and kicked him. Steve found himself bowing again to the Baron and murmuring apologies and running back to where he'd been. The herald, who'd obviously been watching along with Steve, followed, one of the Baron's guards falling in beside him.

"Viscount Rumlow," the herald said, "you cannot just leave a man with the Winter Soldier's reputation to run around uncontrolled within my Baron's lands."

"He failed, let himself be beaten by this one." Viscount Rumlow pointed an unimpressed finger at Steve. "He's unfit to wear my colours and there's nothing in the rules that says I'm required to keep him. So I'm not."

The herald's lips thinned but he inclined his head. "Very good, my Lord."

Viscount Rumlow turned, his attendants in tow, and walked away.

"What happens now?" Steve asked.

"Now?" The herald sounded suddenly weary. "I don't know."

"We ought to put him down," the guard growled, nudging the Winter Soldier with his toe. "Not going to have another chance like this one."

"He's done nothing wrong!" Steve protested.

"He's a threat," the guard said, glaring at Steve. "You don't let a feral animal run around, you _put it down_."  

Before Steve could reply, the herald flashed him a warning look. "He was allowed into the tourney only because he was under Viscount Rumlow's control. With that control gone, I'm not sure there's another option my Baron would find acceptable."

Steve looked down at the Winter Soldier, still unconscious, features peaceful and slack. When he'd fought he'd been controlled, careful. Deliberate. If he'd been feral, Steve wouldn't have had such a problem. "What if someone else was responsible for him? If he was under someone else's control?"

The guard opened his mouth but the herald raised his hand, cutting him off. " _That_ would be an acceptable option."

Steve had thought it might be. "I'll pledge to be responsible for him, at least until we leave your Baron's lands."

"You'll be responsible for any damage he does," the herald warned, "any of my Baron's people he kills, if you can't control him."

"I understand," Steve said. "But I think we'll be fine."

The guard snorted in disgust. "On your head be it."

Steve and the herald watched him walk away. "I'll inform the Baron," the herald said, giving Steve a quick nod before following the guard.

Steve knelt beside the Winter Soldier once more. "Don't suppose you want to wake up?" he asked quietly. When there was no response, he sighed. "I guess not."

Being the winner of the tournament made it surprising easy to find someone with a pony cart and a burly assistant willing to help him—for one of the gold coins in the purse, of course. They balked slightly when they realised he wanted help with the _Winter Soldier_ , but after some reassurance from Steve they heaved him into the cart, went to pack up Steve's belongings, and trundled their way towards the border of the Baron's lands.

The owner of the cart and his helper were decidedly uneasy being so close to the Winter Soldier, however unconscious he might be, but Steve's presence—and the fact that Steve was the one who'd made him that way—went some distance to easing their fears. Steve tried to find out exactly why they were so wary of their unconscious passenger, tried to find out exactly when he'd apparently carried out these terrible deeds, but neither could give him details. It was only rumour and stories and what _everybody knew_.

With every passing mile, Steve felt better about his decision.

When they reached the edge of the Baron's lands they found a decent place for Steve to set up camp, unloaded the Winter Soldier, wished him luck, and trotted away. Steve put his tent up around him, covered him with a blanket, and waited.

And waited.

And fell asleep, sitting up next to the man.

He woke to darkness and the sound of a clearing throat. Momentarily confused, it was automatic to summon a magelight and it showed him pale skin and cold eyes and a hand holding a dagger.

"Easy, easy," Steve said quickly. "You're safe. What do you remember? Do you remember me?"

"Yes. You're that skinny mage from the tourney. You," he frowned, "I was about to win and then you did...something. Everything went black. Did you knock me out?"

Steve winced. "I did, sorry."

"It's fine. That's how it goes. Kidnapping me is not so fine."

Steve winced again. "I didn't..." He trailed off and slumped a little. "Okay, I guess I did kidnap you. Sort of. It was for a good cause."

The Winter Soldier's knuckles went white around his dagger. "Explain."

"Viscount Rumlow." The Winter Soldier went still. "He said because you lost to, to me he didn't want you in his service anymore. The Baron's guard was talking about killing you because you weren't under anyone's control so I said I'd, uh, be responsible for you."

"Did you."

"Yes. Until we were off the Baron's lands, and we're outside them now so it doesn't apply anymore. But I didn't want to just leave you out here alone and unconscious, so." Steve gestured at the tent and the blanket.

"And you did all this out of the goodness of your heart."

Steve shrugged.

"You're not going to stop me if I try and leave?"

"No?"

Eyeing him warily, the Winter Soldier pushed off the blanket and rolled to his feet, then pushed out of the tent. Steve watched him as he scanned his surroundings, then turned slowly in a full circle and fixed Steve with a look he didn't know how to interpret. Steve raised his chin and met his eyes, held them for a few long seconds, then the other man whirled and ran, disappearing into the woods.

"Well, goodbye, then," Steve called after him, then sighed. "And good luck."

 

* * *

 

A bad feeling, like an itch under his skin, had settled over him when he'd realised he'd have to fight a mage. He didn't like mages, didn't trust them, but this was a tourney fight and all he had to do was win: breaking an arm, breaking both arms, should do the trick. Mages needed their hands to work their magic.

When he saw the mage he was going to be facing, talking to the herald, something in him eased slightly. Yes, magic users didn't have to be big to be dangerous, but this one looked like he'd blow over in a stiff breeze.

Bucky favoured him with a threatening smile from across the tourney grounds and when the flag hit the ground, launched himself forward, both swords a blur.

Much of the fight was a blur. The little mage was clever, fast and smart, but he didn't seem to be trying to _hurt_ him, which Bucky knew how to deal with, and he could do things with shields Bucky had never seen. Just when Bucky thought he had him, _knew_ he had him, everything had gone black.

When he'd woken to see the little mage sitting next to him, he'd almost killed him—in his experience, waking in a strange place with a mage next to him could only lead to pain. He'd pulled a dagger silently from its sheath, but he'd had to push a blanket out of the way to do it and it was the blanket that made him pause. The little mage had covered him with a blanket. Had left him all his weapons. Was asleep next to him. Bucky wasn't secured, wasn't locked behind a mage shield, wasn't restrained in any way.

Which made no sense.

He cleared his throat, dagger held obviously at the ready, and waited for the mage to wake up. He blinked awake, looking groggy and confused as he summoned a magelight, and his only reaction to the dagger in Bucky's hands was to start reassuring _Bucky_.

As their conversation progressed, Bucky started to think—if there was one drop of truth to the story the little mage was telling—that there might be something _wrong_ with this mage. He had no problem believing Viscount Rumlow would have dismissed him from his service. He'd only ever seen Bucky as a weapon to be used to garner prestige among his fellow nobles—Bucky had always known the moment he lost, he'd be out. It was the rest of the story he found hard to swallow.

Regardless, everything Bucky owned was still in Rumlow's camp and he wanted it back, and since the little mage was apparently going to let him leave...

Bucky ran into the forest with the mage's goodbye ringing in his ears.

He could run all night without stopping, practically see in the dark, and he arrived at Viscount Rumlow's encampment just after midnight. He knew the sentry patterns, knew the layout, and it didn't take him long to retrieve what he wanted. His spare weapons were nowhere to be found, likely already scavenged, but he had no sentimental attachment to them and what he was carrying was enough. What he wanted were his clothes, his tent, the things he needed to survive, and no one had scavenged those. He bundled them up, slipped into the kitchen tent to help himself to salt and spices and tea, and departed the camp as easily as he'd come.

There was a reason people called him a ghost.

The tournament fair was still in full swing, drunken people filling the grounds, and he heard the Winter Soldier mentioned more than once. Wrapped in a cloak, no one recognised him and tracking the gossip revealed that the little mage—whose name was apparently Steve—had told the truth. When Rumlow had torn his House colours from his chest, tossing him out on his ear, the Baron's guard _had_ suggested killing him and Steve _had_ taken responsibility for him, both events acquiring more drama depending on the drunkenness of the teller. What was missing from the gossip was _why_ Steve had done it. There was speculation aplenty—ranging from the absurd to the obscene—but no explanation.

Lacking anything better to do, and not wanting to be found inside the border of the Baron's lands, Bucky made his way back to where he'd left Steve. He wasn't going to approach him, just follow him for awhile, see what he did. Where he went. He was curious and he had nothing better to do. No one else was going to want him for the tournament circuit, not after Rumlow had dismissed him—no one would chance Rumlow taking it as an insult—and the thought of hiring out to _fight_ made him uneasy in a way he didn't want to consider too closely.

So he'd follow the mage.

 

* * *

 

Steve hadn't been born with magic. No one in his family, as far as they knew, had ever had magic. By all rights Steve shouldn’t be a mage.

Steve's powers had been a gift, given to him by a dying mage, more powerful than Steve thought anyone had understood. He was still coming to grips with everything he could do.

Erskine had come to their village as an old man, tired and fleeing the aftermath of war in a faraway land. He'd been seeking peace. Steve didn't know if he'd ever found that peace, but he had found friendship of a sort in Steve. Steve, who'd been the only one in their village not afraid of the great and powerful mage suddenly in their midst. Who'd gone to see if even a great and powerful mage needed help with simple things. Who'd organised for milk and cheese and bread to be delivered. Who'd sat and talked to him, sometimes late into the night, when Erskine had been unable to sleep, the hounds of memory biting at his heels.

They'd understood each other somewhat, even though Erskine was a great mage and Steve the son of the village midwife, because they were both alone, both knew they wouldn't live much longer: Erskine old before his time with all he'd given to the war and Steve, whose body was betraying him.

When Erskine had said to him, "If you had my power, what would you do with it?" Steve had thought they were just talking, the late night rambles that happened when the moon faded into the morning's light.

"Help people," he'd replied.

Erskine had smiled. "You're angry, though," he'd pointed out, because Erskine had always seen Steve for who he was. "You don't think you'd use it to get rid of the people you're angry with? Just wipe them out completely? It would be simple."

Steve was quiet for a long time, looking down at his hands. "I don't want to kill anyone," he'd finally replied. "I don't like bullies, I don't like people who hurt other people, who don't protect the ones they're supposed to keep safe, who think they can treat people lower than them like, like _things,_ but that doesn't mean I'd want to kill them." He looked up at Erskine. "Besides, if I did that, wouldn't I be just the same as them?"

"That is a very good answer. If only we'd had someone like you teaching mages in the old country."

It was the last and only time Erskine had spoken of it.

Steve didn't think any more of it until Erskine was dying. Until he'd beckoned Steve to his bedside and taken his hand. Until he'd said, "Steven, I want to give you a gift," smiling weakly but his eyes had been bright, "and in some ways a curse. Because you are a good man. Because it should not die with me. Will you accept it?"

Steve had bowed his head and said yes. Erskine's smile had grown sad for a moment, then warmed and he'd pressed his shaky hand against Steve's skinny chest. Power had ripped through him, Erskine's power, flowing out of Erskine and into Steve, crackling through his veins, his bones, and it had been agony. Steve had braced himself, teeth clenched, eyes closed, and he could see lightning, smell rain, feel magic filling all the spaces inside him: all of Erskine's power and Erskine's knowledge and Erskine's control, settling into his soul like it had always been there. His, now.

His eyes had snapped open and met Erskine's, he heard him say, "Stay a good man, my Steven," and then he was gone.

It had taken him days to recover, days in which the magic settled deeper into his body. And, as if the magic was determined that it would have a suitable home, it had worked changes on him. Fixed his lungs, his heart, his back, his _everything_. For the first time, he was living without pain.

Without _physical_ pain, for he felt the loss of Erskine deeply. Never more so then when he went far out into the woods, took a deep breath, and called his magic. It came quickly.

A little too quickly.

A few trees became kindling before he got the hang of it, letting the knowledge Erskine had given him guide his hand. There was no doubt, he'd thought as he'd watched magefire crawl across his skin, he was a mage.

He'd packed up what he could carry, trading what he had for what he'd need to travel, and left the next day, determined to help people with his new found power. Travelling, he soon discovered, took money, so he'd entered a few tourneys, hoping to win enough to keep himself in food.

All of which had led him to this moment: realising he was being followed by the Winter Soldier.

He wasn't certain for how long. Steve had only noticed him because the town was so small a man in black leather stood out. Not that there weren't other men in black leather, it being the colour of choice for mercenaries and sell-swords, but Steve had seen him up close and personal. He recognised the Winter Soldier. The man paused, meeting Steve's eyes like he was waiting for something, and when Steve only stared, turned away, apparently unconcerned, and walked off in the other direction.

That night, Steve doubled the strength of the shields he put up around the tent. He didn't know what the Winter Soldier wanted with him, but since Steve was directly responsible for him losing his position, he didn't think it could be anything good.

 

* * *

 

Steve continued to catch glimpses of him on the road over the next few weeks. There was no doubt: he was definitely being followed, but his concerns had long since faded, replaced by curiosity. The Winter Soldier didn't do anything, didn't threaten him, kept his distance, just kept following him, like there was a long rope tying him to Steve.

He was reminded a little of the stray dogs he sometimes picked up, who'd travel with him for awhile then disappear back the way they'd come—only this one was too wary to approach.  

Steve didn't feel like a confrontation was warranted and he thought leaving food out wouldn't go over well, as much as the idea amused him—somehow he thought the Winter Soldier wouldn't appreciate the joke—so he kept going, pretended he wasn't being shadowed by, if the rumours were to be believed, one of the most dangerous and unpredictable men in all the lands.

But rumours were a chancy thing, he'd found, having followed more than his fair share only to find nothing but empty air at the end of them.

The latest rumour, however, led him to far more than empty air. It led to a farming village, lush and green and under threat from a mated pair of basilisks who'd decided this was the perfect place to raise their inevitable young. The Knight whose lands the village and farm land belonged to would surely have acted to deal with the threat—if for no other reason than it _was_ valuable farm land—but she was away, competing in the jousts. Her seneschal, caring for the lands in her absence, was either unwilling or unable to muster any aid.

So far, only two people had been lost to the beasts, but that was two people too many as far as Steve was concerned. The villagers and farmers greeted Steve's arrival like a miracle—once they realised he was a mage. Someday, Steve thought, amused despite the circumstances, he might have to invest in a set of robes, just so people would start recognising him for what he was.

Basilisks were incredibly dangerous: lizards the size of draft horses, claws longer than a man's hand and fangs to match, and an uncanny gaze that could transform anyone into solid stone. They weren't anymore evil than a wolf or a wildcat, but they belonged in the mountains, far away from people. They had to be dealt with.

 _How_ was the problem. There wasn't a leyline in the place, which meant relying on his own reserves, so he was going to have to be careful how much magic he used.

Steve had one of the goatherds show him where the two were nesting—in his experience, goatherds were generally fearless and when the woman offered to stay and help, he wasn't surprised. "No, it's all right. You go back to the village. I'll come back when it's done."

She looked dubiously at him down her long nose, reminding him of a goat herself. "If you're certain, mage. Basilisks are nasty beasts with tempers worse than a rutting buck."

"That's kind of what I'm counting on."

She tut tutted at him, but she left.

"All right, let's see if this works." His plan, such as it was, was make the basilisks angry enough to use their stone gaze, get them both pointed at him, then get the hell out of the way by dropping straight down into the earth so they hit each other. If pressed, he'd admit it wasn't the greatest plan in the world. Luckily, no one was here to see him. If it didn't work, he'd be a permanent statue and no doubt cautionary tale for the locals.

It was surprisingly easy to make a basilisk angry. His mere presence seemed to do the trick. "Story of my life," he muttered as he focused, willed it, and ported forward twenty feet, both basilisks in pursuit. He couldn't do that trick often, it took a lot of power, but it was good for getting him out of trouble. Or into it.

So far, there'd been no sign of their stone gaze, just snapping fangs and claws that scraped against his shields, which meant they weren't angry _enough_. It wasn't like he hadn't been trying; he'd been antagonising them for at least half an hour.

He'd have to up his game.

Steve set their tails on fire, sending them whipping round to face the new threat, then threw ice as he snuffed the flame, focused, and ported _towards_ them, shocking them into skittering back a few paces. They recovered quickly and fixated on him, eyes beginning to pulse wildly, the warning sign of a stone gaze. With a gulp, Steve split the earth and dropped out of sight, wrapping himself in a shield as he fell.

Above him was only silence.

A few minutes later, he cautiously raised himself up and peered over the edge.

He saw a basilisk claw made of solid stone, glanced over and saw another, and he grinned.

As it turned out, the goatherd hadn't gone far. "Well, bugger me," she said as Steve walked down the path towards her. She pushed her hat off her head and looked him up and down. "Didn't expect to see you alive, there, mage." She grinned at him. "Happy to be wrong, though."

"Glad I could surprise you," Steve said dryly, then grinned back, tired and drained, but very pleased. "Your town's now the proud owner of two basilisk statutes."

"I'm sure the goats will be thrilled."

Steve didn't know what the goats thought of it, but the rest of the townsfolk were incredibly happy. They asked Steve to stay the night, tried to press all manner of things on him, including a goat, which he swiftly declined, but Steve shook his head, said he needed to keep moving, but he appreciated the offers of hospitality. He kind of wanted to be out on the road again where his shadow could find him.

Which he knew was ridiculous.

He was regretting his decision as the sky started to darken, and regretting it even more as he made camp and it started to rain. There was still no leyline he could reach, so he pulled the energy for the camp's shield from his reserves, which were down to the dregs. The shield was solid, but as he started the fire with a spark of magic, he realised he was exhausted.

Thunder cracked overhead and the rain bucketed down, bouncing off his shield. "Okay, maybe this wasn't the best idea." He should have taken them up on their offer. He could have been asleep in a bed right now, under a solid wooden roof, instead of scraping the last of his reserves to keep a shield over his fire and over his tent, which had never been waterproof.

Steve huddled as close to the fire as he could get, warming himself, when, with no warning, his shield finally gave up, disappearing as the energy to hold it ran out of him. Freezing rain almost instantly soaked him to the skin. The fire hissed, started to smoke, and died to nothing as he scrabbled in the near-dark of a sputtering mage light to pull up the hood of his cloak.

A sudden cracking noise made him jump to his feet.

The Winter Soldier was standing at the edge of the pool of dull yellow light, rain sheeting off his thick waterproof cloak, expression unreadable in the depths of his hood.

The world swam around him as Steve tried to call his magic. He didn't know why the Winter Soldier was here and while he'd stopped worrying about him when he was keeping his distance, right now he was too close and too big and Steve...was out of power. Magefire should have flared around his hands, bright and red and dangerous. Instead, he and the Winter Soldier watched as a few pathetic drips of light rolled off his palm and splashed to the ground.

Steve thought the Winter Soldier almost looked amused, but it faded as Steve shivered. He couldn't seem to stop, the shivers wracking his body, a combination of draining himself dry and the cold starting to eat into his bones from the soaking rain.

The other man walked forward, hands extended, palms down, and started to speak. Steve couldn't hear him over the sudden roaring in his ears. The world shifted sideways. He lunged forward and Steve tried to pull energy from inside himself, to raise a shield, to protect himself, but blackness swallowed him.

The last thing he felt were hands closing on his arms and then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had been following Steve for weeks now, staying back, not approaching, just watching.

The longer he watched, the more confused he got.

For a start, why was he out on the road in the first place? Oh, mages travelled, but they travelled in caravans, not on foot. They travelled with extensive retainers and guards and entertainers. Not with old tents and the occasional stray dog that they fed half their food to _._

As far as Bucky could tell, Steve wasn't a mage. Except for the part where he did magic. A lot of magic. For poor people, for tenant farmers, for travelling merchants, for anyone who needed help. On one memorable day, he'd watched Steve lift a toppled hay wagon off its side and hold it in the air while two farmers replaced the wheel. They were so grateful they offered him a ride and he watched Steve disappear into the distance, curled, apparently happily, into a pile of hay.

It made no sense.

He let Steve see him one day in a small town where they'd both stopped. Bucky was half hoping Steve would approach him, but all he did was stare and then Bucky was turning away. He still didn't like mages, he still didn't trust them, but if not for the evidence of his own eyes, he'd be prepared to swear Steve wasn't a mage.

Bucky kept waiting for his true nature to show. It never did.

And then there were the basilisks. The fucking basilisks. Bucky became his shadow in truth then, because basilisks were dangerous. He armed himself to the teeth and shadowed Steve into the forest. Steve never knew he was there and he didn't admit even to himself what he was doing, that he was prepared to step in and help if they threatened him, because Steve was a _mage_.

Bucky didn't like mages, Bucky didn't trust mages. Mages had turned him into the Winter Soldier.  

But Steve was a skinny drink of water going out all alone to face down a mated pair of basilisks for a bunch of farmers and peasant townsfolk and, mage or not, he was probably going to die. Somehow, Bucky couldn't let that happen.

Of course, what actually happened was that Bucky got an inkling of how powerful Steve was. And how _stupid._ Bucky had almost stepped in, but he hesitated, waiting, and Steve had it under control. Barely. Bucky wasn't sure if Steve had planned any of it or if what he'd watched was controlled chaos, but it had worked.

Afterwards, he set up camp far enough away from Steve that Steve wouldn't see him, but he found himself leaning against a tree close to Steve's camp, keeping an eye on him.

Was it invasive and creepy? Probably. Was it also a good thing? As it turned out, yes, because Steve was having problems and this time Bucky didn't hesitate. He caught him before he could hit the ground, folded his cloak over him, and—once he got a look at Steve's useless leaky tent—carried him to his own camp. 

The only thing that gave him pause was stripping Steve out of his wet clothes, but he did it quickly and dressed him just as quickly and bundled him into his own bed, tucking the fur cover around him. Then he went and packed up Steve's things and carried them all over to his camp.

He didn't let himself think too hard about what he was doing or why he was doing it, but he couldn’t leave everything there—if someone came along (in the dark, in the storm) and found an unattended camp, they'd steal everything.

 

* * *

 

Slowly, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head, Steve woke up. He was incredibly warm and something was radiating heat all along his front. He could feel fur against the skin of his face, against his hands, and he was very confused. He was afraid to open his eyes because he knew how much it was going to hurt.

Tentatively, he shifted.

A man's voice, a voice he recognised, said, "You're safe." There was a hint to it, like the speaker didn't expect to be believed, and Steve felt the source of heat tense slightly. Which was when he figured out that the speaker and the thing keeping him warm were the Winter Soldier. His heart stopped, then started again, pounding out a beat like galloping horses. "I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't hurt you."

As much as he could manage with the pain in his head, Steve tried to assess. He was warm and dry. That meant he was wearing different clothes. But he felt fine. Apart from his head, he felt okay. "Where am I?"

"In my tent. Yours isn't warm enough, or waterproof." There was a faint hint of disapproval. "I brought everything here."

"Do you have my bags?"

"They're here."

"Green bag, front pocket, there's a bag with some powders in it. Could you mix one with some water?"

"Yes." The warmth beside him disappeared and Steve missed it. He curled up and tried to figure out what was going on. He'd obviously blacked out and then...the Winter Soldier had picked him up and changed his clothes and put him to sleep in his own tent because Steve's wasn't warm or dry enough? That...that didn't make any sense.

His thoughts were interrupted by the other man's return and he still wasn't going to open his eyes. Struggling, he tried to sit up and it sent pain shooting through his head like a dagger through his eyeballs. After a second there was a tentative touch at his back supporting him and a heavy mug was placed in his hand. He sucked down the disgusting mix like it was honey mead, shuddering as he swallowed the last drop, and lay down again, curling into a ball. He felt the Winter Soldier take up position next to him, like a little portable fire that radiated heat, and he couldn't help shifting the smallest bit closer.

It didn't take long for the powders to start doing their job. The pain in his head was starting to die down. There was a certain level of floatiness, of euphoria, which came with them, but he'd take it. Cautiously, carefully, he opened his eyes and met the gaze of the Winter Soldier. His long hair was falling over his face, he was bundled in warm clothes, looking very different out of the black leather, and he was half curved over Steve, but there was nothing even close to aggressive in the way he was sitting, watching Steve. He looked...worried.

Steve blinked. He could feel his reserves were starting to fill back up, magic starting to simmer under his skin once more. He could pull up a shield—it would hurt, it would cost him, but he _could_ do it. He didn't. "Could you maybe tell me what's going on?"

"I came to check on you, to make sure you were all right. And you weren't." A tentative hint of a smile. "So I brought you here. I," he looked away, "had to get you out of your wet clothes, I didn't want to leave you in them, there was no way to get you warm if you were still wearing them. Sorry." He glanced back.

Steve lifted the fur he was snuggled under and looked down at himself. They weren't even his clothes, had to be the Winter Sold..."Look, have you got a name?" At the puzzled look, he said, "Something I can call you besides the Winter Soldier? Even in my head it feels strange to think of you that way."

"You want to know my name." The strangely gentle man he'd woken up next to had faded away and in his place was the man Steve had first seen on the tourney field. "Why?"

"Well, you have seen me naked," Steve said lightly, preparing to raise a shield and knowing that, depleted as his reserves were, he was royally screwed if he had to fight. "And you helped me when you really didn't have a reason to. I'm Steve."

"I knew your name." The Winter Soldier was slowly fading. He licked his lips and glanced away, then back. Seemed to reach a decision. "My name's Bucky."

Steve hid his surprise, because if there was ever a name that didn't suit the Winter Soldier it was _Bucky_. But he was beginning to think that this man was a long way from just the Winter Soldier. "Bucky. That's an unusual name," he said, smiling so Bucky would know it wasn't a criticism.

Something moved behind Bucky's eyes. "Is it?"

"Uh, yes? Maybe not where you come from."

"It's just my name. That's all I know." Bucky's eyes had gone opaque, unreadable. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Steve had the feeling he'd just come very close to something he shouldn't touch, wanted to offer something in exchange. "I overextended myself, kind of ran out of power, which gives me a splitting headache. That's what the powders were for. They help with the headache." He rubbed his temple a little sheepishly. "Thanks for your help. I'd probably be lying there in the cold and the rain if you hadn't come to check on me."

Bucky's eyes warmed. "You're welcome."

Tentatively moving his head back and forth, testing how it felt, Steve decided it wasn't likely to kill him and he shuffled into a sitting position, somehow not surprised when he felt a hand between his shoulderblades, helping him. "Can I ask you something?" Bucky tilted his head, which Steve took to be a yes. "Why have you been following me?"

Bucky avoided his eyes.

"You _have_ been following me. I didn't imagine that."

"No, you didn't imagine it."

"But why?" Steve persisted. "At first I thought you were after me because I'm the reason you lost your place with Viscount Rumlow."

Bucky's eyes snapped back to his. "You thought? No, that's not why."

"No, I figured out it probably wasn't that when you didn't try and kill me."

"You thought I was going to kill you."

Steve lifted one shoulder. "Not for very long."

"Well, that's okay then," Bucky huffed, looking at Steve like he was an idiot.

"But why?" Steve ignored the look.

It took Bucky a long time to answer. "I didn't really know what else to do."

Turning so he was facing Bucky, Steve studied him. Bucky's expression was calm and open but there was nothing there to read. "What do you mean?"

Bucky shrugged. "I still don't know why you helped me. I thought maybe if I followed you I'd figure it out, and I don't have anywhere else to go. Still haven't figured it out, but you don't act like a mage. You keep helping people. It's strange."

Steve pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around his legs, and set his chin on his knees, not sure which to deal with first. "What do you mean you don't have anywhere else to go?"

"Not sure what part of that's hard to understand." Bucky gave him a sardonic look. "Especially since you had to keep them from having me killed while I was out cold."

"Oh." Steve turned that over in his head. "I helped you because it was the right thing to do, because you hadn't done anything wrong, because what they wanted to do was _wrong_. The guard said you were like a feral animal, but you didn't fight like that. You were the opposite: calm and cool and deliberate. If you'd been feral, I could have beaten you easily."

Bucky gave him a _look_. "I don't think so."

Both Steve's eyebrows went up. "Oh, I think so."

"Not a chance. I saw you with those basilisks. Did you even have a plan, or did you just run around and hope it would all work out?"

"Excuse me, I had a plan! And it work— Wait. What do you mean you saw me with the basilisks?" Bucky pulled in on himself, shifting away from Steve in the closed confines of the tent and didn't answer. "Bucky?" Steve said his name gently.

"Basilisks are dangerous and there were two of them. So I followed you. I watched you."

"Why?"

Bucky wouldn't meet his eyes. "I didn't want you to get killed."

"Oh." Steve didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to react. It was one thing to know Bucky had been following him, but that he'd been prepared to, what, intervene? That was something very different. "So you know."

Startled, Bucky looked up. "Know what?"

"That I _definitely_ would have beaten you if you were as feral as that guard said."

For a moment Steve thought he'd gotten it wrong, Bucky searching his face, Steve meeting his eyes solemnly, then Bucky grinned, eyes bright, and Steve's breath caught in his throat because he was beautiful. _Don't go there, Steve. Just don't._ "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

Steve gave him a quick grin in response. The tent was small, but didn't feel crowded. Steve should have been uncomfortable, with Bucky so close, but he wasn't. He felt strangely _comfortable_ , though at least part of that was probably how floaty the powders made him feel. The whole world felt soft. He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought, then tilted his head. "If you really don't have anything better to do, instead of following me, do you want to travel with me?"

Bucky froze, his easy happiness fading like it had never been. "You want to travel with the Winter Soldier."

His voice was suspicious, flat, and Steve made sure his was gentle when he said, "I think it might be nice to travel with Bucky." When Bucky didn't reply, he went on, "I know I get lonely on my own, you probably do, too, and if you're going to be following me anyway, wouldn't it make more sense to travel together?"

"Nothing about you makes sense," Bucky muttered under his breath, but his tension was easing.

When Bucky didn't say anything else, Steve added, "If you think about it, we're _already_ travelling together. Sort of."

Bucky blew out a breath. "You really want that?"

Steve lifted one shoulder. "If you want to."

"Your tent's garbage. If we're doing this, we're not using it."

"I usually put a shield over it, so it doesn’t matter." Bucky's eyes narrowed and Steve held up his hands, hiding a smile. "Okay, fine, no using the garbage tent. Does that mean you're saying yes?"

Bucky gave a small nod. "But I doubt it'll work out."

"That's the spirit." Steve couldn't quite stop himself from rolling his eyes and a reluctant grin tugged at the corner of Bucky's mouth.

 

* * *

 

The first day went well, Bucky matching his pace to Steve's and the miles passing in companionable silence. When they found a good place to stop for the night, Bucky put up the tent and Steve started to set shields over the camp, had his hands poised to cast, when Bucky asked, "What are you doing?" in a voice as cold as new fallen snow.

Steve stopped, letting his hands fall. "Shielding the camp?"

"Why?"

"To keep animals out, and people, to keep rain off the fire, to keep the tent warm." Bucky's gaze was flat. "To keep us safe. Because it's what I do." He studied Bucky, trying to work out what was wrong. "It won't hurt you," he finally said. "It won't stop you from leaving. I'll key them to both of us, you'll be able to come and go as you want." He tried a smile. "Just one of the benefits of travelling with a mage."

Bucky's eyes didn't change and Steve's smile faded. "I won't if you don't want me to, but we'll have to set a watch if the camp's not shielded." He paused. "Bucky, are you... What's wrong?"

It seemed to snap him out of it. "Shit," he said under his breath and rubbed his face. "Sorry. No, shield the camp. It's fine."  

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

With a quick, concerned look at Bucky, Steve raised his hands, fingers twisting in complicated gestures as he set a shield over the camp, keyed to let them both walk through but no one else, to let smoke from the fire out and air in, but no rain. It was complex, but shields were what he was best at. Bucky's eyes never left him as he worked and he let go off the magic with a small sigh, feeling it settle over the camp like a warmth against his skin. "There."

"It's done?"

Steve nodded.

Bucky frowned. "I didn't feel anything."

"You wouldn't," Steve said. "It's for the camp, not for you. If you'd felt it, it'd mean I did something wrong."

Later that night, after a dinner of roast rabbit Bucky caught and cooked, because Steve could cook porridge well and that was about it, lying next to each other in the tent, Steve said, "You don't like magic, do you?" He felt Bucky tense next to him. "You don't have to answer."

There was a long silence before Bucky said, "No."

"I'm a mage, though. Magic is what I do. It's all I do."

"I know."

"Is that, are you going to be okay with that?"

Bucky's voice was gruff as he said, "Just don't surprise me. And don't use it on me."

Steve was suddenly wide awake. He sat up. "I would _never_ use magic on you without your consent, Bucky. Never."

There was another long silence. "Okay."

"All right. And I won't surprise you. Or, I'll try not to." Steve lay back down. "Sometimes things don't go according to plan and I end up surprising _me_. That means it's probably going to surprise you, too."

A choked-off laugh escaped Bucky. "Are you sure you're a mage? Because you don't act like one."

"I'm sure." Steve's words were interrupted by a yawn.

"Go to sleep, Steve." 

 

* * *

 

Bucky still wasn't sure why he'd said yes to Steve. Still wasn't sure why he'd told Steve his name. His name was all he had of who he'd been before he'd been made into the Winter Soldier and he'd just _given_ it to him. Steve was a _mage_. He did magic. Two things Bucky didn't trust. Somehow it was different when it was Steve, when it was Steve doing it. It didn't trigger that bone deep fear, that soul deep anger.

Except when he'd looked up and seen Steve's fingers moving, seen him about to use magic, he'd frozen. He'd reacted. He'd forgotten it was Steve and only seen magic about to be cast and he didn't know why or what or if it was about to be cast on _him_.

Bucky knew any other mage would have been furious at being interrupted, at being questioned. Steve had stopped, explained, had been worried for _Bucky_. He'd been trying to do something good for both of them with his magic and had offered not to cast it if Bucky didn't want him to. Bucky believed Steve when he said he'd never use his magic on him, but he still didn't know why he believed him.

Sleeping next to him should have been impossible. At first it was awkward, and he didn't get much sleep that first night, or the next. Gradually, though, as the weeks passed, he realised the sound of Steve's breathing was a comfort. Was what lulled him back into sleep when he woke in the middle of the night. The wary part of himself, the buried feral animal inside his soul, kept trying to remind him that Steve was a _mage_ but the rest of him was ignoring it in favour of the knowledge that Steve was _Steve._

They travelled together down the roads of the kingdom, Steve talking to merchants and bards and guardsman and messengers: people who travelled, people who knew the news from more than just their little corner of the kingdom. Steve was looking for word of people who needed help who weren't getting it from the people who were _supposed_ to be helping them. People who had nowhere else to turn.

Sometimes they were able to hitch rides on hay carts or dray wagons. Once they spent three days travelling with a merchant's caravan because the merchant's brother's cousin was someone Steve had helped with a missing pair of carriage horses.

"Missing horses?" Bucky asked. They were perched on the back of the caravan, swaying with the motion of the wheels.

"Mmm, they were a matched pair, beautiful, not that I know anything about horses. The cousin had been trying to find a pair that matched his House's colours for years—he didn't really care, but it's something expected of Merchant Houses in that city—and he was a genuinely good person, really looked after his workers, and you know that's not common." Bucky nodded. "A minor noble from a rival Merchant House stole the horses, bought an illusion spell from a mage to disguise them, and was using them in plain sight. Poor guy never stood a chance of finding them. Except someone came along who could see right through the spell and break it."

"And was that someone you?"

Steve grinned. "The noble who stole them was a complete asshole. I might have arranged for the spell to break right in the middle of the town square while the lunar festival was at its peak, in full view of everyone, including the royal guards."

Bucky burst out laughing.

"Well, he deserved it. It was such a petty, shitty thing to do. I never did find the mage who sold the spell, though." He sighed. "I would have had words with him."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. We've got this power, we should be using it to do good things."

Bucky felt a little rush of affection flutter in his heart as he nudged Steve with his shoulder. "Steve, you're something else."

 

* * *

 

It was sheer chance that led them into the town of Two Cows. They were there to buy supplies, for once not following rumours and whispers on the wind, and it was a surprise to find what looked like the entire population gathered in the town square.

Steve made his way through the people, looking for someone in charge, and approached the person with the fanciest clothes. "What's going on?"

The woman turned to look at him. "The cow fell in the well and we can't figure out how she got in or how in the nine hells we're going to get her out."

"I might be able to help with that."

She gave him a dismissive once over. "I somehow doubt that," she said and turned away.

Steve could feel Bucky bristling behind him. He summoned magefire, let it crawl over his hands, up his arms, the people nearby drawing away with gasps, and tapped the woman on the shoulder. "You'd be wrong," he said as she turned back, annoyed expression fading into fear as she realised what Steve was. 

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't know—"

"Don't be sorry." Steve let the fire fade. He hated it when people were afraid of him. "I know I don't look like a mage. Maybe next time," he said gently, "don't be so fast to dismiss someone who says they want to help."

"No, no, I won't."

"Good. Now let me see exactly what the problem is? I'm sure I can do something."

A look of surprise passed across the woman's face. "You'll still help us?"

"Of course."

"My name's Bronwyn, I'm the Mayor of Two Cows."

"I'm Steve." He didn't introduce Bucky. He'd learned that Bucky preferred it that way and as the Mayor led the way to the well, which did indeed have a very distressed cow at the bottom of it, Bucky took up position at the edge of the crowd. Steve shook his head as stared down at the cow. She stared back up at him. "Does the cow have a name?"

"Daffodil." It wasn't the Mayor who answered, but a young girl who was almost as distressed as the cow. She looked hopefully at Steve. "Are you going to save her from the well?"

"What's your name?"

"Kathryn."

"Is she your cow?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to try."

"She's a good cow."

"I'm sure she is." Steve awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. "You go stand over there next to him, okay?" He pointed at Bucky. "Tell him Steve said you should."

"And you'll save my cow?"

"I'll do my best, I promise."

She fixed him with a measuring stare, as if weighing up whether he could be trusted, then nodded and hurried over to stand next to Bucky, who looked startled, then confused, then flashed Steve a dark look. Steve shrugged and turned his attention back to the cow. "Ma'am," he said to the Mayor, "if you could get everyone to stand back, I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, mage, right away."

Steve could hear her hustling people away, but he kept his attention on the cow. "Okay, Daffodil. I'm going to need you to keep nice and calm. I have no idea how you got down there, and no idea how you landed on your feet, by all rights you should have broken your damn fool neck, which between you and me would have simplified matters a hell of a lot." Daffodil let out a low, and Steve fancied offended, moo. "Hey, I'm not the one who fell down a well." She snorted. "That's right." He closed his eyes and reached for a leyline, found a nice strong one thrumming under the town, and pulled, felt it crackle through him. "Here we go."

Twisting his fingers, he built a strong, solid shield in the mud under Daffodil's feet, built walls up the side of it, turning it into a box, something strong enough to hold a full grown cow. Daffodil stamped her feet. "Easy, girl. I know. But most cows are sensible so I need you to live up to that." When it was solid and strong, he carefully started to lift it.

Daffodil bucked like a wild thing, throwing herself against the sides of the shield.

"That is not helping." He stopped, built a lid on the box, and called, "Kathryn? Can you come here, please?"

When she hurried to his side, Steve said, "I need you talk to Daffodil, try and keep her calm. Can you do that?"

She nodded firmly and started crooning to the cow, whose ears twitched. When Steve started to lift her again she stayed calm, attention focussed on Kathryn. Steve brought her up and over the edge of the well, set her gently down on the ground, and dismissed the shield with a flick of his wrist. He would have hit the ground himself, momentarily shaky as he let go of the leyline, except Bucky's hands closed around his shoulders, holding him up.

Daffodil shoved her head into Kathryn's chest, there was a general cheering, and Bronwyn was grabbing Steve's hand to shake it enthusiastically. "I can't thank you enough, mage, that was great what you just did. I thought we were going to have to kill the cow and drag her body out, and that would have put us down one cow, not to mention what it would have done to the well."

"I'm glad I could help." Steve tugged, trying to get his hand back. He could see Kathryn giving the Mayor a glare that could slice through glass as she led Daffodil away. The cow didn't seem to be any the worse for wear from her adventure down the well.

"And you'll stay with us tonight, you and your friend? Our inn's not much, but we can give you a room of your own and a nice meal, on the town of course. Just our way of saying thanks."

He looked over his shoulder at Bucky, giving up for the moment on reclaiming his hand. Bucky lifted one shoulder, indicating he didn't mind. "That would be kind of you, thank you."

The Mayor finally returned Steve's hand, but that seemed to be the cue for everyone else to come up and shake his hand or curtsy or pat him on the back and say thanks. It wasn't the first time it had happened, so Steve was used to it. No one tried to do it to Bucky, in his black leather and his swords, looking inscrutable, though he garnered a few respectful nods which he dutifully returned.

 

* * *

 

Bucky stayed standing at Steve's shoulder while what seemed like the entire town came up and thanked him. No one asked who he was or questioned his presence. Bucky figured most of them assumed he was Steve's bodyguard.

So far, no one in any of the places they'd found themselves, no one they'd encountered on the road, had recognised him—or if they had, they'd kept it to themselves. He was still waiting for someone to point at him and say: it's the Winter Soldier. Was waiting for the fear that always followed. He wondered what Steve would do if it happened.

Eventually, they were able to escape to the inn. It had a bathhouse attached to it, which filled Bucky with absolute joy. He hated being dirty, and he knew Steve felt the same way. Every time they camped near a lake or a pond or even a big enough puddle, the two of them would scrub themselves clean. This was so much better and when Steve used a touch of magic to get the water even hotter, Bucky didn't bat an eye.

They chose to eat in their room: thick delicious stew, fresh baked bread, butter and cheese and apples, and Steve collapsed across the bed with a groan of happiness.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, feeling warm and content. "Good thing the cow was okay."

"Yeah, a cow's incredibly valuable. Milk, cheese, butter, more cows."

"That too. But I was more thinking if you hadn't come along they'd have had to change the name of the town." It took Steve a minute. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared, then started laughing and Bucky grinned at him. "One Cow doesn't have quite the same ring to it." Steve chucked a pillow at him. "Thanks, I'm keeping that now."

"I'll just wait 'til you're asleep and then steal it back."

"You're still going to sleep without a pillow."

"We're sleeping in a _bed_. I think I'll be fine without a pillow."

"Good point." Bucky lay down across the bed, parallel with Steve, and shoved the pillow under his head. "Is this really what you're going to do forever, wandering around looking for people that need help?"

Steve turned so he was lying on his side, facing Bucky. "I mean, maybe not forever, but other than that, yeah, pretty much." It wasn't exactly a surprise, and Bucky was, for the most part, content. Being with Steve was the simplest and happiest he could remember his life being—not that that was saying a great deal, given how little he could remember of his life. "I sort of gave my word."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked. Steve's expression closed off in a way he wasn't used to seeing. "What is it?"

"It's..." Steve hesitated. "I've never actually told anyone who didn't at least know the basics."

Bucky was surprised to find that it hurt. It shouldn't have, he knew better than that, but still, it hurt. "It's fine, Steve. I wouldn't expect you to tell me something important. You don't trust me. You don't really know me. I'm nobody." He said it lightly and gave Steve a reassuring smile.

He wasn't prepared for the wash of anger that crossed Steve's face. "You are _not_ nobody. And I do trust you. It's nothing to do with not trusting you. It's me. I've just never told anyone. I don't know, it's... I'll tell you, I want to tell you. I'm _going_ to tell you but, dammit, Bucky, you are _not_ nobody."

Bucky swallowed and forced himself to keep still, Steve's anger making him want to pull away. "Steve..."

Steve closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them he was calm. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you. I'm angry at me. I didn't mean to make you feel like that."

"You don't have to tell me, not if you're only doing it to make me feel better."

"If telling you would make you feel better, that would be enough reason to, but that's not why I'm going to do it."

Bucky had to smile at Steve's _earnestness_. "It's all right, Steve. I forgive you, okay?"

"I'm not after forgiveness. I just need you to believe me. You're not nobody. You're Bucky, you're my friend, and I trust you."

"You don't give up, do you?"

"You should know the answer to that by now."  

Bucky did. "Okay. Okay, Steve. I believe you. Now tell me your secret."

"All right, my secret is I'm kind of a fraud." One corner of Steve's mouth lifted. "I wasn't born with magic." Bucky's brows pulled down in confusion. "I was born in a small village, smaller than this place. My mother was a midwife. A few years ago, a mage moved into a place not far out of the town, looking for somewhere quiet to live. We became friends. My mom was gone, I didn't have anyone else, I was sickly, probably not going to live much longer than a couple more years. He was old and he wasn't either." Steve took a deep breath. "When he died, he gave his magic to me and it fixed everything that was wrong with me. Guess it wanted somewhere healthy to live." Steve's quick smile was rueful. "But he asked me once what I'd do if I had his powers and I said I'd help people. So that's what I'm doing. It's what I want to do. It's what I need to do."

Bucky was drowning under the sudden burst of understanding and he slowly sat up, never taking his eyes off Steve. Steve, who suddenly made sense. "I understand now," he said softly.

"Understand what?"

"Why you don't act like a mage."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mages are selfish and untrustworthy and arrogant and half of them are evil. You aren't any of those things. I've never been able to figure out why. Now I know."

Steve was looking up at him in confusion. "Mages are just people, Bucky, they're not—"

"They _are_." Bucky's could feel himself slipping sideways into the Winter Soldier, could hear the change in his voice, knew his eyes were going cold, but Steve just lay there, trusting and calm. "Are you afraid of me?"

Steve shook his head.

"Why not? You know what they say about the things I've done, the things I can do."

"Because I know rumours lie as often as they're true. Because I've got the evidence of my own eyes. Because I trust you." He smiled a little. "Because I know you."

"Do you?" Bucky's smile was nothing but teeth. "I don't."

"Bucky?"

"There's a hole in my mind, in my memories. All these things I'm supposed to have done, all these people I'm supposed to have killed? I don't remember them except for flashes. But I know people are afraid of me. I know the rumours, the whispers. I know what I'm capable of. The things I can do, the things my body can do, they're not normal. _Mages_ did that."

Steve's eyes were wide with shock.  "Bucky—"

" _No._ Mages took me and twisted my body into something else, burned out my memories of what I was before, left me with nothing but shadows and nightmares." His heart was pounding, his breath harsh in his throat. "Mages turned me into a weapon and they used me to kill. _Bucky's_ the only thing I've got left of what I was before they got their hands on me, the only thing I remember."

Magic crackled over Steve's skin, magefire crawling over his hands, making Bucky flinch. Steve took a deep breath and got himself under control, his magic fading. Carefully, giving Bucky a chance to pull away, he pressed one hand against Bucky's chest. The point of warmth was like a balm, soothing Bucky's soul, and he wanted to grab Steve's hand and press it harder against him, until it dug into his skin. "Do you know who?"

"What?"

"Do you know who it was?"

"No. There's shadows. Voices. If I heard them again, I'd know them. I don't know if I escaped or if they were done with me, but I ran and I ran until I was far enough away I thought I could stop running. Until I thought I'd be safe."

"You are safe."

"I'm not." Bucky closed his eyes and let his head fall. "I can't ever be, not really."

"You are." Steve's fingers tightened in his shirt. "Because if any mage ever tries to touch you again, hurt you again, I will set them on fire." Bucky's eyes snapped open. Steve's eyes were cold and hard. "I will burn them to ash. Bucky, I know the last thing you probably want is magic used on you but if you'll let me, I'd like to put a shield on you. You won't know it's there, but there's almost no one in the world that could ever get past it." Steve smiled, showing all his teeth. "I'm very, very good at shields."

Before he could think about it, he said, "Do it," shivering as the words left his mouth, because this was letting someone, even if that someone was Steve, use magic on him.

"It won't hurt, I promise," Steve murmured. "It's to keep you safe." His eyes went distant and he crooked his fingers and Bucky fought the urge to cringe away, fought the tiny urge to lash out to make Steve stop, and then there was the faintest sensation of warmth against his skin and Steve's eyes were normal again. "There. No mage I've ever heard of will be able to get through that to do anything to you. I should have offered to do it right away."

"If you had," Bucky said, going for brutal honesty, "I'd have run and never come back."

"Good thing I didn't then."

Steve's hand was still wrapped in the front of Bucky's shirt. Bucky gently touched it. "Good thing."

They looked at each other for a minute, then Steve let go and sat up, pulling in a shaky breath. "I meant what I said. Anyone who tries to hurt you is going to have to go through me to do it. And I'll use all of my power to protect you."

Bucky felt it like a truth in his bones and for the first time in forever he felt _safe_ , like the shield Steve had put on him had weight, like he could feel it standing between him and the world. And if the shield failed, he knew, like an article of faith, that Steve would be waiting. "I believe you." Three simple words, but he was amazed his voice didn't shake.

"Good." Steve ran his hand over his face, looking suddenly as exhausted as Bucky felt.

"We should try and get some sleep."

"You don't mind sharing the bed with me?"

"Why would I mind sharing?" Bucky asked, genuinely puzzled. "I'm just glad we're not sharing it with anyone else, like they do in the cheap rooms."

"Because..." Steve trailed off and gestured at himself.

Suddenly Bucky understood. "Because you're a mage." Steve nodded. "You've always been a mage. You didn't suddenly stop being Steve because you know what happened to me. Don’t start treating me any differently."

"You're right, sorry. I won't." Steve nodded once, quick and decisive. "Same goes for you, now that you know about me."

"Nah, that just means I like you more now."

It surprised a quick chuckle out of Steve and he wriggled down under the blankets. Bucky followed, letting out a long sigh, and closed his eyes. Steve snuffed out the mage light and left them in darkness.

Bucky opened his eyes hours later, not able to sleep with the memories he'd stirred up, and realised Steve was still awake. He was curled into a ball, radiating tension, his back to Bucky. Bucky thought about it, then rolled onto his side, facing away from Steve, and slid across the bed until their backs were pressed together. Steve stiffened, then relaxed with a tiny, heartfelt sigh. "Better?"

"Better," came the soft reply, and with the feel of Steve against his back, feeling his heart beat and his steady breathing and his warmth, Bucky drifted off.

 

* * *

 

"Are you that mage that helps people?"

Steve looked up from his ale. Beside him, he felt Bucky go on the alert. "Yes, that's me." They'd stopped at the inn to have dinner, something Bucky didn't have to hunt, and ale and the company of other people. Not that Bucky was particular keen on the latter, but Steve didn't mind listening to people talk and there was supposed to be a bard later, and they were always good for news.

He hadn't been expecting someone to come looking specifically for him. 

"Thank the gods. They said I might find you here. Sir Samuel sent me. Will you come? Our dam's close to breaking and no one else has been able to help. If it goes, it's going be bad."

"Of course I'll come." Bucky sighed, drained his ale, and asked the landlord to wrap their pies.

The messenger had two spare horses waiting, long-legged, elegant beasts...which was how Steve discovered he didn't like horses. Or didn't like riding them, at least. He'd never been on a horse and he was wishing he'd kept it that way.

A short while in, Bucky took pity on him (or possibly on Steve's horse) and put Steve up in front of him, one arm holding him securely against his chest. Steve put a mageshield over his ass and other bits (he wasn't proud, but he was also incredibly sore) and leaned back into Bucky. Bucky didn't bounce; Bucky moved with the horse like he was part of the animal, which kind of made Steve hate him a little bit—but not as much as he hated the horse.

It was around an hour of fast riding to reach Sir Samuel's lands, then another half an hour to reach the dam. When they pulled to a halt, Steve slid to the ground, just about fell when his legs gave out, but Bucky grabbed him and hauled him up.

There were torches illuminating the scene, but Steve absently flicked his fingers and threw magelights up in the air, turning the night into day. There were two leylines under the ground and more within reach and he was happy to use as much magic as necessary. There were gasps and people turning to look at him, but Steve only had eyes for the dam.

It was tall and wide, easily stretching down twelve feet to the river below and around twenty feet across, holding back Steve didn't want to think about how much water. It had been shored up, but everywhere he looked it was leaking. He could almost _feel_ the pressure of the water, the shifting of the stone through the earth. He didn't know anything about stonemasonry, but he could tell when something looked bad and this looked bad.

There was a tall man walking towards them, well-dressed and well-armed, who must be Sir Samuel, but he didn't have time.

Steve sank his attention into the ground under the water behind the dam and started weaving a shield, pulling on the two leylines, linking the shield _into_ the leylines as he built it, running it up the inside of the dam. He could hear Bucky talking, knew he must have intercepted the Knight, and spared a brief moment to hope that would go well, then turned his attention back to his creation.

This had to last without him. It had to be perfect.

He sank into the leylines as deep as he could go, lost himself as he poured magic into his shield, coaxed the power into following the path he'd woven between the two leylines, creating a new dam, a shield of pure magic behind the failing one of stone and mortar, and when it was perfect, when it was humming with power, he let it go.

Steve came out of it with a gasp and started to fall. As always, he didn't hit the ground because Bucky had him.

"It's not leaking!" a voice cried. "There's no more water coming through!"

"Steve." Steve blinked, not quite back in the here and now. "Hey, Steve." Bucky lowered him to sit on the ground and moved to crouch in front of him. "You with me?"

"Hmmm?"

"Gonna take that as a no. How's your head?" Bucky touched his cheek. "You need your powders?"

"What? Oh, no. No, opposite problem. Too much power. Just taking me a minute to remember I'm not a leyline."

"To remember you're...right. I'm going to pretend that made sense. Do you think you could stand up? I think Sir Samuel wants to know what you did to his dam."

"Sir Samuel's okay with you staying where you are, actually." Bucky winced and Steve looked over his shoulder to see the man he'd seen before looking down at them. "I take it you're Steve? The mage? Stay down," he added as Steve started to scramble to his feet. "It's fine."

"Uh, yes, Sir Samuel."

"And you did something to fix my dam?"

"Not fix, I don't know how to fix it, but I put a," he frowned, trying to think how to explain, "a temporary dam made of magic behind it. So you can fix the actual dam. It will last, well, I tied it into the two leylines that run under your land, so it should last for a few years. Long enough to have the dam fixed, at any rate."

Sir Samuel smiled, wide and warm, and crouched next to Bucky. "Steve. Thank you. I don't know how to repay you."

"There's no need. I used the magic in your leylines, so it didn't cost me anything. I was happy to help."

Sir Samuel's smile got wider. "At least let me offer you the hospitality of my manor for the night."

"We'd be happy to accept," Bucky said, before Steve could reply.

Steve hadn't been intending to say no and he huffed at Bucky, before saying, "Thank you, Sir Samuel. Like Bucky said, we'd be happy to accept."

"Excellent." Sir Samuel rose to his feet. "It's a short ride to the manor."

Steve stifled a groan as Bucky pulled him to his feet.

 

* * *

 

The manor was a huge, sprawling building, surrounded by high stone walls, the interior all warm wood and cream stone, hung with thick tapestries. 

There were a number of servants waiting to greet them, but as they entered, Sir Samuel turned to Steve. "Steve, can I have a word with you?"

Steve exchanged a look with Bucky. "Of course, Sir Samuel." The Knight beckoned to him and Steve followed him to a cosy room Steve thought must be his study. A fireplace burned cheerfully along one wall, the opposite wall was hung with weapons and an assortment of falconry gear, there were leather chairs and a long wooden desk, and a hound sprawled in front of the fire that raised its head, looked at them both, then went back to sleep.

Sir Samuel gestured for him to sit and Steve perched on the edge of a chair while Sir Samuel sat in the other. "Forgive me if I'm about to do the wrong thing, but after what you've done for me and my people I feel like I need to take the chance. Do you know who that is you're travelling with?"

Steve's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut, biting off what he'd been about to say. He might be a mage, but he was still a commoner and Sir Samuel was a Knight, a member of the nobility. Nothing good would come of insulting him in his own home.

"Ah." Sir Samuel had understood at least the gist of what Steve _hadn't_ said. "It _was_ the wrong thing. Damnation, I was afraid of that." He sighed. "You know very well you're travelling with the Winter Soldier, it's not a concern to you, and I've just shoved my giant boot into my mouth." Steve stared at him in shock and Sir Samuel favoured him with an easy smile. "I wasn't always a member of the nobility. Commoners can be knighted if they happen to be in the right place at the right time saving the right life."

Steve sat back. Thinking. Finally he said, "People aren't always who rumour says they are. He's not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore, if he ever was," Steve said quietly, meeting Sir Samuel's eyes. "He's a good man, one of the best men I've ever met, he's been through things you can't imagine and he's _still_ a good man. I'm lucky to travel with him, to count him as a friend."

Sir Samuel gave him a considering look. "Ah," he said again, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I see how it is."

"What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "I understand you spend your time travelling, looking for people that need your help. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"I imagine that's going to be unpleasant come winter."

"Yes," he said again, not sure where Sir Samuel was going with this.

"If the two of you would like to winter here with us, you'd be welcome. We can't offer anything fancy, but it's warm and we have the room."

Completely taken aback, Steve blurted out, "Why?"

"Because you're a mage who looks for people who need his help." Sir Samuel spread his hands. "Because I owe you a debt. Because I wasn't always a Knight. Anyway, think about it." He stood. "We'd better get back to your companion. He'll be getting worried."

"Probably. Uh, thank you for the offer."

Sir Samuel inclined his head and ushered Steve out of his study. Bucky was waiting impatiently where they'd left him. "Harold will show you to your room." Sir Samuel indicated a young man standing near the stairs. "When you're ready for supper, just ring the bell."

They didn't say anything while they followed Harold up the stairs to their room, but as soon as the door was shut, Bucky asked, "What was that about?"

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. "He knew who you used to be. He wanted to make sure I knew."

Bucky started to pace. "And he still gave us a room? I'm surprised he didn't tell us to get off his lands. Well me, anyway. He'd be happy to have you stay."

"Actually, he offered us a place to spend the winter months."

"Offered you, you mean."

"Offered _us_." He reached out and grabbed Bucky's hand, stopping his pacing.

Bucky studied Steve's face then finally said, "He really said we could _both_ spend the winter here?"

"He did, Bucky." Steve squeezed his hand. "He may have known who you were. But he also knows who you are now. And that's what counts."

 

* * *

 

Steve wasn't sure what woke him, whether it was the hitch in Bucky's breathing or the tiny, high pitched sound he made. It didn’t matter. It pulled him up out of a deep sleep and into the reality of Bucky's nightmare. His body was like steel, like he'd shatter if Steve touched him, and the noises he was making were enough to break Steve's heart.

"Bucky," he called softly, not sure touching him was a good idea, however much he wanted to. "Bucky, wake up." He flicked his fingers and conjured a low magelight, just enough to chase away the shadows. "It's a nightmare, it's not real."

Bucky came out of it with a gasp, eyes wide and fixed on Steve's face. He was trembling.

"It's not real. It's a nightmare. You're safe," Steve soothed, low and gentle.

"It's real," Bucky rasped out. "Was real."

Steve lifted his hands, held them hovering in the air, desperately wanting to comfort him, afraid to make it worse. "Can I touch you?" He didn't know what else to do, how else to help.

After a moment, Bucky nodded, staring up at Steve, and Steve gently pressed his fingertips to Bucky's shoulder. When Bucky held still under his touch, didn't flinch, didn't tense, he started rubbing gentle circles. "You're safe, you're shielded, and I'm right here. Nothing can touch you." Bucky's eyes were locked onto his, like he thought Steve might be lying to him and he could find the truth if he just looked long enough. Steve slid his hand over Bucky's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, and you're safe. I promise."

Bucky let out a shuddering breath, and another, and then he was moving and Steve suddenly had an armful of Bucky. Bucky was burrowing into him and Steve lay back down and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer. "Okay, Bucky, shhh you're okay." They settled with Bucky's forehead pressed against Steve's neck, his chin digging into Steve's collarbone, but Steve didn't care. Bucky's body was draped over his and Steve held him tight, whispering nonsense words into his ear until his tension faded, until he drifted off to sleep.

Steve kept holding him, not willing to let go even though he could tell from Bucky's breathing he was deeply asleep, and it shook him to the core—he was a mage, same as the people who'd hurt Bucky, and still Bucky trusted him for comfort, for safety.

He wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be able to let go, wasn't sure he ever wanted to.

 

* * *

 

Bucky woke slowly. He was incredibly warm, incredibly content, and more than a little confused, because he was wrapped in Steve's arms, and as amazing a feeling as it was, he wasn't sure why he was there. Then last night's terror came roaring back and he remembered. He hadn't had a nightmare in a long time, not since he'd had the sound of Steve's breathing to sleep beside. As if in reaction, Steve's arms tightened, a small, concerned noise escaping his throat. It made Bucky smile, driving away the lingering shreds of the nightmare.

Of course Steve was still holding him. Of course Steve hadn't hesitated when Bucky had thrown himself at him. Bucky wanted to stay here, Steve curled around him, the feel of Steve's breath against his neck, ruffling through his hair, but he shouldn't. He'd long since admitted to himself that what he felt for Steve was beyond fond, well past friend, and tumbling headlong into something else. It was fine, he was fine, but it meant he should really move.

After a minute, he tried to free himself without waking Steve. Steve, it turned out, didn't want to let him go. He hung on tight, all the strength in his wiry arms locking Bucky into place. "Steve," he said softly. "You have to let me go."

"No." It was a sleepy mumble.

"No?"

"You need me."

There was nothing in Steve's breathing that made Bucky think he was awake. Bucky let his eyes slip shut. "I'd better stay then."

"Good." Even in his sleep, Steve sounded smugly satisfied and he squeezed Bucky once and snuggled closer, then subsided.

When he finally woke up, Bucky felt him start in surprise, then he let go and shoved himself up, leaning over Bucky. "You okay?" There was no trace of awkwardness, only concern.

"Fine, Steve."

Steve searched his face, then patted his chest. "I was worried."

"Is that why you wouldn't let go of me?"

Fascinated, Bucky watched the tips of Steve's ears turn pink. "You started it."

It startled a laugh out of Bucky. "That's very mature."

Steve huffed and folded his arms and Bucky was overwhelmed with a sudden rush of love. It hurt, but in a good way, like a dislocated joint snapping into place. He threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. "Come on, let's see if we can get something like breakfast in this place." After a moment, Steve followed and maybe it should have been awkward, maybe it should have felt strange, but it didn't. It felt right.

And when the morning after that, tucked away in their tent, he woke up with his arms around Steve, Steve curled in the curve of his body, that felt right, too.

Every night, they went to sleep on their own sides of the tent; more mornings than not they woke up together. They didn't talk about it, didn't even mention it, but Bucky never felt safer than when he woke up in the middle of the night and Steve was holding him.

 

* * *

 

The early autumn weather was perfect, the sky gloriously blue, the clearing they'd found to set up camp in was surrounded by trees just beginning to turn gold and the stream passed just close enough to fill the air with pleasant sound. They were taking the opportunity to do some much needed laundry and air out everything they owned. The trees were festooned with wet clothes and bedding, Steve was sitting on a fallen log, idly chewing on a piece of grass, and Bucky was sharpening his swords.

Suddenly Bucky stood, stripped off his shirt, and dropped it on the grass. Steve stared. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see," he replied distractedly. He slipped off his boots and stood, toes flexing, then scooped up both his swords. Steve watched him stride out into the clearing and pause with his head down.

There was no warning. Between one heartbeat and the next he exploded into movement, a spinning, elegant, deadly fight against invisible opponents.

As his blades swung with lethal grace, Steve could almost see them.

There were shades of the man Steve had fought in the tourney, blades moving with the same careful skill, but there'd been no joy then, just cold methodical precision.

This was pure joy.

Bucky was so alive, his eyes bright, his smile wide. Steve had no doubt each of his invisible foes was vanquished, and he could _see_ them, one, two, five, a dozen, each of them falling under Bucky's blades as he whirled and leapt and danced his way across the clearing, but Bucky's joy wasn't for their death. It was pure joy in movement, in the slide of muscles under skin, in the singing of steel as it sliced through the air, and Steve was mesmerised.

Bucky finally slowed to a stop, chest heaving, sweat beading on his skin. He was smiling so wide, so bright, it rivalled the sun and Steve thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Standing there, he was more beautiful than Steve had ever seen him and he realised he was hopelessly, irrevocably, desperately in love. He must have made a noise, some small sound, because Bucky's eyes met his and his smile faded slightly, became hesitant. "Steve?"

"That was amazing."

"Yeah?" There was something almost shy in the way he said it.

"Absolutely amazing, Bucky. Incredible."

He was grinning again, looking proud of himself. "It's been a long time since I did that."

"You should do it more often. You looked like you were having fun."

"I was."

"Of course, now you need another bath."

Bucky's smile turned wicked and he stalked towards Steve, who stood up and started to back away. "Maybe I'm not the only one," he said, leaning his swords against the log Steve had been sitting on.

"Bucky," he said warningly.

Bucky lunged for him. Steve tried to dodge, but he was never going to be as fast as Bucky. He was laughing as Bucky grabbed him and rubbed his sweaty self all over him. "Stop that!" Steve tried to shove him away but it was like trying to shove a mountain and, truth be told, Steve wasn't all that unhappy with where he was. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"I know." Bucky grinned and let Steve go. "Now what was that you were saying about a bath?"

 

* * *

 

That night, Steve was careful to keep his distance, but when he woke up in the morning, Bucky was draped over him like a blanket, nose pressed into the back of his neck, and he couldn't help a little sigh of contentment.  Wanting what he couldn't have was a recipe for disaster, Steve knew that, but if he kept it contained to tiny moments like this one, with Bucky warm and solid against his back, it should be fine.

It would be completely fine.

 

* * *

 

It was near dusk when they stumbled over the caravan, pulled over on the side of the road. People were milling about, obviously distressed, and Bucky knew Steve was going to stop and see if they needed help the way he knew the sun was going to come up the next day. He just wanted to find a good place to stop for the night, but he sighed and followed.

When Steve introduced himself and asked what was wrong, one of the women replied, "Anne, our daughter, she's missing. We think she got lost in the forest but we don't, none of us know how to find her. We're cloth merchants, not trackers."

Steve's face fell. "I don't think I can help with that."

Bucky, hating to see that expression on Steve's face, found himself saying, "I've got this one." He could track anything and with Steve to make a magelight, this shouldn’t be that hard. Unless the kid was dead or stolen, neither of which he was going to mention.

"Bucky?"

"I can track. If you can give me enough light, I should be able to find her." The hopeful look on the parents' face, not something he was used to seeing pointed at him, made him turn away to face Steve.

Steve's eyes were bright with pride and he lifted one hand like he was going to touch him, then let it fall and gave him a warm smile instead. "I can do that."

"Show me where you saw her last?" The parents led the way to edge of the forest. With Steve at his shoulder, magelights floating high above Bucky's head, it didn't take long to find her trail. She'd been following a rabbit, Bucky guessed, the animal's footprints visible under and next to the child's, then found herself deep in the forest with no idea how to get back.

She'd tried, but it had just taken her farther and farther away from the road. He lost the trail a few times, had to backtrack and circle around, the kid so light she didn't leave much of a mark, but he found it again. He had a brief moment of worry as they approached the river, though why he cared if some kid he didn't know drowned he wasn't sure, but he heaved a sigh of relief when her trail turned to follow it. "Smart kid," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Following the river. Eventually that's going to lead to people."

Before it led to people, it led to a rock pile Bucky would have had trouble climbing over, so there was no way a kid had managed it, and there was no sign of her trail leading away from it. He studied it in the magelight and spotted a deeper shadow, a crevice, just big enough for a kid to squeeze into. "I think she's in there." Bucky pointed. "Go and talk to her, get her to come out."

Horrified, Steve held up his hands. "Me? I'm terrible at talking to kids. You send me over there and she'll never come out. You're going to have to do it."

"Steve. She's going to be cold and scared. She needs someone who's going to make her feel safe. That's not me, so it's going to have to be you."

"I don't know, if I was a little kid lost in the woods, I think a big strong warrior coming to save me would make me feel pretty damn safe." Bucky gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "Bucky, she doesn't know anything about you, about who you are or who you were. Just that you're here to help her. Go get her."

Bucky sighed, but he knew there was no point arguing with Steve. "Take these." He unbuckled his swords and handed them to Steve. "This is a bad idea." If it came to it, he could drag her out, keep her from getting away and hand her back to her parents, but everything in him balked at the idea. Poor kid would be scared enough already.

"You'll be fine."

Flashing Steve a quick glare, he made his way over to crouch next to the crevice, a second magelight hovering over his shoulder. "Hey, I'm Bucky. Is there someone named Anne staying in there?"

There was no answer, which didn't surprise him. Steve's rescue fantasies notwithstanding, Bucky was pretty sure he wasn't exactly a comforting sight. "I'm only asking because I'm stuck in the woods with an idiot and I heard there was a smart kid named Anne around here who might be better company."

Still no answer, but he heard shuffling around and saw a flash of pale skin.

"Anne's parents sent us to find her, which I'm fine with. Everyone gets lost sometimes, but they sent me out here with someone ridiculous. So if you are Anne, it would be great if you could come out and rescue me. Or if you're not, just pop out and let me know and I'll keep looking."

A dirty face peered at him suspiciously from the crevice.

"You look like an Anne. Are you Anne?"

She nodded.

"Thank god. He's ridiculous. See?" Bucky pointed at Steve, who waved awkwardly. "He's supposed to be a great and powerful mage and he's wandering around the forest at night carrying my swords." Bucky heaved a dramatic sigh. "What are you supposed to do with someone like that?"

"What are you telling her?" Steve called.

"Nothing," Bucky called back. "Nothing that's not true," he added quietly, with a quick grin.

Tentatively, she smiled back.

"You did really good, you were smart, following the river like that and then staying put when you couldn't go any further. But I think it's time to get out of here. You've got to be cold and hungry and you've probably had enough forest for one day." Bucky held out his hand. "We'll take you back to your parents."

"They're not mad?"

"No, sweetheart, they're not mad. I promise."

"Okay." She took his hand and Bucky helped her out, steadying her on her feet, and led her to Steve.

"This is Steve. Steve, this is Anne."

"Uh, hi." He waved again.

Bucky exchanged a look with Anne and mouthed _ridiculous_ as he took his swords back from Steve and strapped them on. He unbuckled his cloak, wrapped it around her shoulders, and then crouched in front of her. "So, it's a long walk back. Do you mind if I carry you?"

She thought about it, then shook her head.

Bucky had never actually carried a child, so he wasn't sure how to do it exactly, but he scooped her up and she clung to him, and it seemed to work. She put her head down on his shoulder, Bucky tucked his cloak securely around her, and they made their way back the way they'd come.

When they walked into camp, Anne was asleep, her arms in a stranglehold around Bucky's neck. Her parents rushed over and Bucky was half expecting them to yell at him for touching their precious child, but they patted him on the shoulder, on the back and her father burst into tears as he reached for his daughter. Bucky gladly surrendered her. She woke up as he passed her over, throwing herself at her father and kicking Bucky in the gut as she went. The whole family was hugging and trying to pull Bucky into it, but he evaded and then Steve was sliding between them.

The head of the caravan shook Bucky's hand and told him how grateful he was and Bucky was in a daze, because this was what people did to _Steve_ , not him. Steve was the one who helped people. Steve was the one people liked, but here they all were, lining up to say thank you and pat him on the back, tell him what a good man he was, what a good job he'd done, and it was making him desperately uncomfortable.

Steve was there again, giving their apologies, they couldn't stay, they needed to keep traveling. Everyone seemed genuinely sad and Bucky pulled in on himself. Someone handed his cloak back and he buckled it on gratefully, hiding in its depths. Someone else passed him a warm, delicious smelling package and told him it was for their dinner, and then they were putting on their packs and Steve had taken his arm and was leading him away while the whole caravan waved at them and called thank you and goodbye.

It was Steve who found somewhere for them to stop, got the tent set up, unrolled their bedding, shoved Bucky down and curled up next to him. Bucky didn't wait for them both to fall asleep, just rolled over and pulled Steve into his arms. There was a muffled squawk of surprise, but then Steve just sighed and snuggled closer.

 

* * *

 

The next morning they were sitting on a fallen tree, eating cold roast hen, courtesy of the delicious smelling package, the fire crackling merrily, when Steve asked, "Are you okay?"

Bucky stared into the distance. "I'm fine."

"Really? Because last night you looked like someone hit you in the back of the head with a shovel."

"Why a shovel?"

"It's hard and you could really swing it. Could have been a manure fork, I guess. Or maybe a hoe."

"You've put some thought into this."

Steve shrugged.

"Should I worry that you've been planning what farming tools to whack me with?"

Steve just smiled. "Can I ask again?"

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Bucky admitted.

"You were looking a little freaked out. What I don't know is why."

"They were so..." Bucky shook his head. "Grateful."

"You found their kid, of course they were grateful."

"No, it's not." He paused. "That's you, that's what you do. You help people and they love you for it. That's not me."

"It was last night." Steve weighed up his words carefully before he went on. "It could be again. There's things I can't do with magic, like find that girl. And I don't know half the things you know. Face it, Bucky, I come from a village. I'm still figuring out how the world works. Up 'til now it's been me helping people and you helping me, which I lo— appreciate more than I can tell you. If you wanted, it could be _us_ helping people. I bet there's things we could do together I could never do alone."

Bucky stared at him, like he was waiting for the punchline, and Steve let the silence linger. Finally Bucky said, "Steve. Did you forget what I was?" He rose to his feet and paced in front of the fire. "That's not for someone like me, that's for someone like you, someone who's a good person. You were given all the power in the world, you could do anything, and all you do is help people. I don't get to be that person." He shivered. "Last night they were all thanking me and touching me and telling me what a good thing I'd done, like I was some sort of, sort of _hero_ ," he almost spat the word, "and I'm not, that's not who I am, they have no idea, it's—"

Steve watched him patiently, expression gentle, and Bucky seemed to deflate.

With a sigh, he walked over to Steve, dropped to his knees, and put his cheek on Steve's thigh. "I didn't know how to deal with it, with them saying those things."

After a moment, Steve started running his fingers gently through Bucky's hair. "What, that you're a good man who'd done a good thing?"

Bucky laughed bitterly. "Yes."

"But you are a good man and you had done a good thing. You found their daughter, Bucky. I couldn't have done it. You didn't have to."

"I only did it because you couldn't."

"It doesn't matter why you did it. You did it."

"But you know I'm not a good man."

"Do I?"

"The Winter Soldier is not a good man."

Steve stroked Bucky's hair, tucked an errant strand behind one ear. "If something's painted yellow and I paint over it, paint it blue, is it still yellow?"

"No one's _painted_ me, Steve."

Steve closed his fingers in Bucky's hair and tugged gently. "Answer the question."

"No, it's not still yellow. It's blue."

"I'm not saying I agree you ever weren't a good man. Knowing what I know, anything you did wasn't your choice, but even if you weren't, Bucky, you're painting over it. You're not the Winter Soldier anymore. You're just Bucky. You _are_ a good man."

"And you're an idiot," Bucky mumbled half-heartedly.

"Not about this." Steve kept sliding his fingers through Bucky's hair, fought down the urge to lean forward and kiss his temple. "You get to have this. If you want it, you get to have it."

"We don't always get everything we want."

"No," Steve agreed, smiling a little sadly down at Bucky, glad Bucky couldn't see him. "But you can have this."

"Maybe." Bucky rubbed his cheek against Steve's thigh and then let out a long, slow sigh. "Yes. Yes, I'll help people with you. You're right, there's things we could do together you can't do alone. Better planning for one thing. But it's on one condition."

"Name it."

"I get to say something to you and you don't get mad at me or make me leave or do anything else bad."

Steve brows pulled down as he stared at Bucky, fingers tangled in his hair. "Of course, Bucky. You don't have to— You can always tell me anything you want to."

"Okay." A fine tremor ran through Bucky's body. "I love you."

Steve went completely still. "Bucky?"

"You can pretend I never said it, but I wanted to. Just once."

Steve brushed his fingers against Bucky's cheek. "You could say it again."

"No, that would be," he shook his head, "saying it when you don't feel it back would be too much. I only wanted to see what it felt like."

"Bucky." Steve could feel his heart wanting to fly out of his chest it was beating so fast. "You could say it again."

It was Bucky's turn to go still, then he sat up and met Steve's eyes. "Steve?"

"I love you, too." Bucky was searching his face and Steve nodded. "I do. Honestly, I do, I love you like you're the missing part of me."

A slow smile spread across Bucky's face. He gently nudged Steve's knees apart and shuffled forward until his chest was touching Steve's and Steve swayed forward as Bucky settled his hands on his shoulders, thumbs brushing his neck. "Like I'm the missing part of you?"

"Yeah, well." Steve slid his arms around Bucky, trying not to smile and failing miserably. He could feel his pulse fluttering under Bucky's touch. "It's true."

Bucky nudged his nose against Steve's as he trailed his fingers up Steve's neck to cradle his face between his hands. "I didn't know you were a romantic."

"You also didn't know I loved you," he pointed out, leaning into Bucky's hand.

"No, I didn't," Bucky said and his voice was soft with wonder.

"I do. I love you. And this would be a really good time to kiss me." He turned his head to press a light kiss to Bucky's palm. "If you wanted to."

"If I...Steve." Bucky dipped his head and kissed him, long and slow and sweet, leaving Steve wide-eyed and breathless. He lifted his head long enough to say, "If I wanted to," and then he was kissing him again, soft and slow at first, but Steve pulled him closer and kissed him back enthusiastically. He knew he was making soft, happy sounds and maybe he'd be embarrassed by that later, but he didn't care. Right now all he cared about was that he had his arms around Bucky, he was kissing Bucky, Bucky who loved him, Bucky who he loved.

"You know," Steve said when they came up for air, Bucky nuzzling his way down Steve's neck, "maybe we should have figured it out when we kept waking up wrapped around each other."

"Maybe we're very stupid." Bucky slid his hands under Steve's shirt, grinning as his fingers left a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Steve couldn’t think past the sudden rush of heat and he dragged Bucky closer. "Maybe you should keep kissing me."

"Whatever you say," Bucky said and kept kissing him, and kept kissing him, and _kept_ kissing him and Steve had nothing to complain about. Not then and never afterwards: not the next day or the next month or the next year or for the rest of their lives.

 

* * *

 

Over time, the legend of the Winter Soldier faded into obscurity, a lost relic of times past, scoffed at as a tale for gullible children.

A new tale rose in its place, one that was true in every way that mattered. There were two men who travelled the kingdom, a great mage and a great warrior, who served not the nobility but the common people. Who would help those who couldn't help themselves. Who would protect those whose sworn protectors turned away. Who were fierce with enemies and gentle with friends and whose love for each other was so bright it outshone the sun.

 


End file.
